


So Many Words We Didn't Say

by el3anorrigby



Series: A Growing Addiction [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gaby Has A Realisation, M/M, Napoleon Has A Realisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:25:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5004745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon thinks he knows what's going on but he needs Illya to say it. But it's easier said than done because there will always be obstacles, distractions and interruptions for Illya before he could actually let Napoleon know the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Many Words We Didn't Say

Napoleon feels like he is drowning. He gasps like there isn’t enough air to fill his lungs. He is dazed, utterly under Illya’s spell. The agony he’d felt moments earlier is forgotten.

“Illya,” Napoleon murmurs his name with eyes closed against Illya’s warm lips as the Russian pulls away, breaking their contact.

The kiss had been chaste to say the least. Perhaps in a strange inexplicable manner, it is Illya’s way of a comforting gesture but Napoleon is certain his heart had stopped beating for those few precious seconds. To say he is shocked at what Illya had done might be an understatement. All the signs, the tension, the precarious looks between them leading up to that moment had suggested to Napoleon that perhaps something had indeed been brewing underneath Illya’s cool and icy exterior. Even if he had told himself it was only his mind playing tricks on him, he had noticed it numerous times to simply ignore it and the culmination had been before their latest mission in Naples. 

Illya had fled his room before Napoleon could confront him and now here they are in a hospital room, where Napoleon’s attached to wires and Illya’s leaning close by his side looking rather bereft at what he had done.

For a moment, neither men could find the right words to say to the other. There is a tint of pink colouring Illya’s cheeks and Napoleon, he is left truly wrecked, his breathing shallow and ragged. He wants to blame it on the heady combination of drugs and Illya’s lips upon his, no matter how brief the kiss had been. 

“Illya,” Napoleon murmurs again, his voice hoarse. 

He is looking at Illya now with gentle eyes, expectant and questioning. It is a lethal look, a combination that’s making Illya’s heart flutter, his stomach twists in knots and his knees go weak. Knowing he cannot look into Napoleon’s blue orbs for too long, he averts his gaze and grips the bed railing, leans his head down. He knows he’d been forward. Under normal circumstances, kissing Napoleon would be the last thing he would do but what had happened during the mission, the idea of losing Napoleon, coupled with the image of him being in physical and emotional pain had propelled Illya to do the unimaginable. It’s an intense feeling he had never felt for anyone in his life. It scares him to the point where he wants to flee again but he cannot run from Napoleon, he knows it that much. That man haunts him wherever he goes and Illya has to man up, no matter what the consequences will be in the end.

“Peril, come on, please talk to me.”

There is a gentle pleading tone to Napoleon’s voice, and Illya curses his luck. As always, he could never deny Napoleon anything. Illya opens his eyes.

“Illya?”

This time it is not Napoleon who is calling his name but Gaby. Illya turns and finds her standing at the door and doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry for her interrupting their moment. But Napoleon on the other hand does not attempt to hide his annoyance because Gaby’s timing is absolutely horrendous. He groans out loud. Illya shakes his head at his partner and indicates to him not to utter a word. Napoleon couldn’t say anything even if he wants to.

By the time Gaby makes her way towards Napoleon’s bed, standing opposite of Illya, both men had gone quiet. She senses the taut tension in the air and looks at them questioningly. 

“Are you okay, Solo?” she asks but her eyes are on Illya. It’s a bit strange that he looks rather flushed. When Napoleon doesn’t answer, Gaby turns her attention on him. “Solo?”

“I’m fine, Gaby. It’s just the pain here is killing me at the moment. Hurts. I don’t think if I can survive this for much longer,” he whines, gesturing at his heart. 

Illya understands immediately what Napoleon is trying to do. He’s mocking him on purpose. If he is trying to get a rebuff he’s definitely getting one but at the same time Illya cannot help but hate Napoleon’s choice of words. He gives him a stern look.

“Don’t be dramatic, Cowboy. You’ll be just fine,” he growls but Napoleon ignores him. Just for a moment, they are back to their usual bickering ways.

Gaby suspects something strange is going on between them. She always tries to ignore their childish banter but this time it’s quite different than what she normally sees. Despite supposedly being annoyed with each other, Illya’s eyes on Napoleon holds a certain warmth and Napoleon’s, there is a hopeful and endearing look which she hasn’t seen before in them. However, she decides not to probe into the matter as there are more pressing matters at hand which needs their attention.

“Illya, Waverly wants you to brief him on what had happened. He’s waiting on the secure line. Go. I’ll wait on Solo,” she says, explaining her presence in the room and Illya nods albeit rather reluctantly. His hesitant stance doesn’t escape her though. She notices it straightaway.

Suspecting Gaby might be on to him, Illya starts to make his move. “I’ll go now,” he says. 

He chances a glance at Napoleon who is wearing a disappointed look, because once again he has to wait for whatever it is that Illya had wanted to say. And he wants, _needs_ an explanation for that kiss that had left him more than confused. He doesn’t become impatient unnecessarily for anything but this time it’s killing him. As if he hadn’t suffered enough, waiting for Illya to return is an added burden he simply doesn’t need.

As Illya is about to leave, one hand on the doorknob, Napoleon realises he cannot contain his emotions in. If he is mobile, he would run after him to stop him leaving. In the end, he blurts, or rather lets out a plea. “Hurry back, Peril.”

Illya swallows heavily, stops for a moment to look at him and nods. “I will, Cowboy.”

Gaby hums and could only raise an eyebrow at that interesting interaction between them. Her curiosity is well and truly heightened now but she pushes her thoughts aside for the moment. 

 

***

 

By the time Illya does return, he finds Napoleon had already fallen asleep.

“How long?” he asks Gaby quietly who is sitting by his bedside. She puts down the book she’d been reading.

“About half an hour,” she answers as she eyes him carefully. “He did wait but you’d been gone for sometime. He’s clearly tired so I told him to rest. Falls asleep right after.”

Illya nods. Seeing Napoleon’s peaceful form lifts his heavy heart. He wants to thread his fingers through his hair, wants to touch him, but Gaby’s presence prevents him from doing what he wants. 

“So did everything go okay with Waverly?”

“Yes,” he says shortly, his attention on Napoleon not wavering a bit. And Gaby knows this isn’t just a case of one caring for an injured partner, it’s much more than that. She decides it’s time for her to find out the truth.

“What’s going on with you two?” she asks. She’s not pulling any punches and simply gets straight to the point. 

Gaby’s question makes Illya anxious but he knows it had been coming. He wonders if Napoleon had mentioned anything to her while he’d been gone. He shuffles his feet, his eyes still fixed on Napoleon, totally averting Gaby’s gaze because she will be able to read him like a book and he despises her for it. Perhaps that’s why she’s such a good agent. 

“Illya, what’s going on?”

“What did he tell you?” Illya asks instead. He’s edgy and nervous and Gaby is certain he is definitely hiding something from her. 

“Nothing I want to hear. I asked him the same question I am asking you now and I got nothing.”

“Then there is nothing to tell,” Illya replies much to Gaby’s irritation. She stands from her seat and tugs at Illya’s arm, pulls him aside towards the door. She doesn’t want Napoleon to wake up, hearing them argue.

“Illya, there are too many things you keep from me. First about Uncle Rudi and now whatever this is you and Solo are hiding from me. And we’re supposed to be partners.”

The mention of Rudi’s name always gets to Illya. And this time it’s no different. 

“Look, about Rudi, it was Solo’s choice. I _wanted_ you to know. I’ve _always wanted_ you to know. Because you should know what it had done to him, what it was still doing to him. But he wouldn’t let me. He doesn’t want you to know,” he growls, the tremor in his voice low and dangerous. He can’t help himself as the anger reverberates through his body. 

Gaby’s eyes widens. She looks almost stunned, hurt at Illya’s words but Illya’s not sorry. It’s pent up frustration he had kept under wraps for a while and now that it is out in the open, he wants Gaby to feel, to understand what her little act of betrayal had caused Napoleon.

“He is hurt. He has nightmares. You should have seen him,” Illya says through gritted teeth, trembles slightly. The sight of Napoleon in pain haunts him again. He says mournfully, “It doesn’t go away easy for him. Even for me.”

Tears are pooling in Gaby’s eyes now. She never understood the magnitude of what she had done until that night, until Illya’s words had pierced her heart. “But I didn’t know, Illya. If I had known, I…”

“What _would_ you do? What _could_ you do?” Illya cuts her off, knowing she doesn’t have the answers to his stinging questions. In the end, Gaby just buries her face in her hands and sobs. She had caused Napoleon so much pain and grief, she doesn’t even know how to make it up to him.

At the sight of Gaby breaking down, Illya groans in his hands. Had he been too harsh? He’d been too angry for so long about this, he had simply let it rip. 

“Gaby,” Illya calls her gently after a while. She looks up at him, her tears smudging her mascara. 

“I’m sorry, Illya.”

“Again, it’s not me you should say sorry to. It’s Solo.”

Gaby nods, knowing fully well what she had to do. “I know,” she whispers. 

Words are suddenly lost on Illya. All he could do then is to pull Gaby close and kisses the top of her head. She leans into him, puts her arms around him. No matter how hurtful his words had been, she couldn’t hold it against him. He’d been right all along.

“I’ll make it up to Solo. I’m going to take care of him.”

His heart does a little jump at what Gaby had said. “What?”

She pulls away and holds him at arms length. “You asked me what I’d do if I had known about Solo. Well now that I know, I’m going to take care of him. Make sure he gets everything he needs. I’ll help him get through this, make him forget. I’d do anything he asks of me.”

Illya cannot help but feel a surge of jealousy course through his body at Gaby’s words. No matter how responsible she’s feeling for Napoleon, Illya’s the one that is supposed to care for him, not Gaby. And it isn’t fair how easily and freely she could say those words without having to care, without having anyone judge her for it. It wouldn’t have been the same if he had been the one to speak out his thoughts like Gaby had done. He cannot hide his resentment towards Gaby more at that moment and starts to pull away completely. 

“I can take care of Cowboy,” he mutters, his tone dead serious. In his defence, he can certainly do a much better job than Gaby. Secretly, he’s quite certain Cowboy would approve. Gaby however is giving him a disbelieving look. There is a steely determination in Illya that she can’t quite put a finger to.

“ _You_ want to take care of him? You two can’t even be in a room together for too long without killing each other,” she retorts. 

Illya doesn’t say anything to rebuff Gaby after that. He shrugs and only walks towards Napoleon, takes his seat by his bedside. “I’ll take care of him,” he mutters out of Gaby’s earshot. “I won’t leave him again.”

“You never answered my earlier question, Illya.”

Gaby hasn’t given up. She strides towards him and kneels by his side, takes his hand in hers. “What’s going on between you both?”

Illya closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. He’s not certain whether he should admit to Gaby something which he hasn’t admitted to Napoleon yet. It doesn’t feel right to do that. But when she catches a glimpse of his eyes, that longing look she recognises too well, Gaby covers her mouth as she gives out a quiet gasp. And it suddenly hits her hard. How could she be so naive not to see it all this time? 

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Illya’s breath hitches. Are those intense passionate feelings he gets, the one that always messes with his head when he’s around Napoleon love? If he could write what he feels for Napoleon, it’d probably be an endless and complex gibberish story that would be too hard for any sane person to understand. He lets out a rueful chuckle. 

“I cannot answer that.”

“Well, Illya Kuryakin, you don’t have to answer me, I know,” Gaby says, an understanding smile adorning her pretty face. She suddenly feels she’s intruding on them. “I’ll leave you two alone. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Illya looks at Gaby as she makes her way towards the door. Before she leaves, he calls out to her. 

“Gaby? Thank you.”

She only smiles back at him and closes the door behind her.


End file.
